The REASON Series - the Complete Collection (12 page)

I can't stop myself from looking at table twelve - Mikah's table - on my way over to the booth next to it. My heart aches at the sight of that empty table, and I suddenly have this need to see him. To thank him and—

My heart stops and my steps falter. Sitting in the booth I'm heading toward is a black-haired girl I had hoped never to see again - Rebecca!

Fear grips my throat as I consider the possibility that it really was Riley outside after all.
 

Rebecca is Riley’s wannabe girlfriend. She thinks he's the greatest thing since sliced bread, and I have no doubt Riley cheated on me with her. He was always saying I was lousy in bed and even made a point a few times of telling me that he'd slept with other women. Rebecca, I'm certain, was one of them.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I snap as I approach the table.

"Well, hello to you, too, Vivienne."

"Answer my question," I say through gritted teeth.

"Is that any way to treat a customer?"

"No, but you are no customer."
 

She turns her head to look at me. I gasp. Her right eye is purple and swollen shut.

"No, I'm not. I came to warn you."

"Warn me. How the hell did you know I was here in the first place?"

"Word gets around."

"That's funny, because there isn’t anybody that knows I'm here."

"Guess again."

This is just damn fantastic. I feel my anxiety level rise dramatically, and I’m suddenly desperate to get her out of here.
 

"What's your warning?"
 

It’s taking all the self-control I have to keep from giving her another black eye. Another part of me is debating on whether to run out the back door.
 

"Do I have to explain it to you? Isn't it obvious?" She looks at me full-on, showing off her bruises.

"You have a black eye. What does that have to do with me?"

"Riley gave it to me. To show me what he planned to do to me if I didn't find you and report back to him. When I told him I found nothing, he did it again. And again." She wants sympathy from me. Is she serious?

"Well, he put me in the hospital."

Her jaw drops. "I didn't know that."

"I'm sure you didn’t. What I want to know is how and when he got out of jail."

"You know his father. Drug charges are enough to motivate him to act. He bailed him out."

Fucking fabulous. Drug charges. Is she kidding me? "I need to get back to work."

She stands up and I catch the first glimpse of her body. "Dear God, please tell me that's not Riley's," I say pointing to her easily six-month-pregnant belly. She flushes and looks down coquettishly at the floor. "Whatever you do, don't tell him that. I'm surprised you've managed to get away with it this long without him figuring it out," I whisper, remembering his reaction. I gently place my hand on my little mound. "That's how I ended up in the hospital."

In an instant, she starts crying. "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"Get out of here, Becca, and get away from him," I say in a tight voice.

"I can't."

I feel a surge of pity as understanding washes through me. Becca’s situation is not much different than mine was. Walking away isn’t easy.

Neither of us says anything, and after a moment she leaves. Once she's gone I go over to Bartie. "Can I have a minute?"

"Sure, but stay close."

"Thanks." I turn to head off toward the bathroom.

Jesus. Becca looks like hell. I'm not sure if I should feel sorry for her or what. I am surprised that he lets her around him; she’s easily three months further along than I am. Which confirms that he was cheating on me. Becca, no doubt, is one of dozens of women out there with a Riley stamp on them, knocked up or otherwise. The thought brings chills, and I make a mental note to try and discuss some things with Dr. Alston on Friday.

I suddenly feel very dirty. I wash my face and arms, trying to shake the feeling.

It’s a slow night, and around eleven, the cook, Bart Jr., or BJ, who also happens to be Bartie’s nephew, tells me to take off early. I look at Nyssa for reassurance and she nods.
 

I step outside just in time to catch the next bus. As I'm climbing on board, I catch a glimpse of a man with slick, black hair and nice threads walking into the diner. He looks a lot like Mikah. But the bus takes off before I can ask the driver to let me out. I consider getting off at the next stop and walking back, but the next stop is a ways down the road; by the time I get back to the diner, he'll have left.

About forty minutes later we get to my stop. This driver isn't Al, so he doesn't linger. Right before I turn the corner, headlights come on across Lake Street, shining on me from behind. By the time I get to the door the headlights have moved on, just like the other times. And just like the other times, I look over my shoulder to see a sleek black Mercedes.

I'm exhausted tonight, so I forgo my shower and climb into bed, bringing the bag of goldfish crackers with me.

I smile at the thought that Mikah just might be trying to disobey my order to leave me alone, and then find myself comforted by the idea that it's him in the Mercedes making sure I get home okay. Though I’m wondering how he beat me to my apartment tonight, considering I got home an hour early and he had just been going into the diner when I left. Assuming that was him.

I realize after a few minutes that I've been absentmindedly rubbing my belly and the little bump there. "Maybe one day soon we'll get our timing right," I whisper.
 

Holy crap, I'm talking to my stomach again. I smile and roll over, reaching for the light. Right before it goes out, I catch a glimpse of my baby waving at me.

EIGHTEEN

Knock, knock, knock.

I groan. I don't want to wake up.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Who is it?" I say groggily.

"Vivienne, it's Mr. Crowley from downstairs."

"Yes?"

"I have a Detective Stevens with me to see you."

My eyes snap open.

In my mind’s eye: an image of Detective Stevens sitting in a chair toward the foot of my hospital bed while he asked me questions about Riley. I’d expected him to make me feel like an idiot, to tell me that if I’d been smarter and left sooner, I would never have ended up where I was. But he didn’t. Instead he helped me see that I was really a victim, not some dumb girl that didn't know any better.

He is the first cop I've ever come to respect. He’s the one who caught and arrested Riley, and I trust him completely.
 

Come to think of it, he’s the first
man
I’ve ever respected or completely trusted.

But what on earth is he doing here?

"Just a minute," I bark as I scramble out of bed. I really have to pee, but I doubt the detective is going to wait much longer.

I unlock the knob and two deadbolts, leaving the chain in place, and crack open the door. Sure enough, it's the same detective from the hospital.
 

"Thanks, Mr. Crowley," Detective Stevens says.

"No problem. You okay, Vivienne?" I nod. "Okay, I'll be downstairs if you need me," he says, then heads downstairs.

"What can I do for you, Detective?"

"Can I come inside?"
 

I hesitate. I don't let anyone in here, ever.
 

He is quick to sense my hesitation and adds, "I need to talk to you about Riley Bennett and I'd prefer to talk to you in private, if that's okay?"
 

I feel an emotional waterfall wash over me: hope that maybe he’s been picked up again, downright freaked out that I have to once again talk to a cop about Riley, and, finally, fear that something bad is happening.

I shut the door slightly and unhook the chain, then open it back up. A sweet smile spreads across his lips - tender, appreciative. His eyes are looking downward, and panic rises from my toes.
 

I look down. Sure enough, my tank top is up, exposing a good portion of my bump. "Sorry," I say as I pull my tank top down, and he smiles wider.

"It's a pleasant sight to see, Vivienne. I was worried for you and that little one after we met the last time."

I nod shyly and back up so he can come in. "Listen, I just woke up, can I use the restroom real quick?"

"Of course."

I shut the front door and leave it unlocked. I don't feel threatened by Detective Stevens, and if anyone is going to come in here they can deal with him.

I shuffle off to the bathroom. When I come back out, he is leaning casually against the wall opposite the apartment door, between my bed and the kitchen window.
 

"What can I do for you, Detective?" I ask again.

"Are you aware that Riley was released last Friday on bail?" he asks, taking a small notebook out of his coat pocket and flipping it open.

I take a deep breath. I expected this when he brought up Riley’s name. Hopefully that’s all he’s here to tell me.

"Sort of. A somewhat mutual friend of Riley's and mine showed up at the diner I work at last night to warn me that Riley was looking for me."

He makes a note. "Which diner?"

"Garrison’s."

"Was this friend Rebecca Black?"

I look at him, puzzled. "I think so?"

"About five foot seven, black hair?"

I nod. "That's her."

"What time was she at the diner last night?"

"She was there when I got there at about three forty. She left at about four-oh-five, four ten-ish. Not sure."

"What else did you talk about? Besides Riley's release?" He's fishing for something, but I can't see what, and I’m confused as to why Becca is being brought up in this conversation.
 

"She had a nasty black eye and told me that Riley had beaten her up, both as an example and because she hadn't given him what he was after."

"What was he after?"

"My whereabouts."

"Why would he want to know that?" There’s nothing in his tone besides curiosity.

I shrug, but my stomach is doing flips. "I'm assuming it's to see if he did what he set out to do."
 

"Which is?"

"I'm sure if you think about why he attacked me that night, you can answer your own question, Detective?"

He nods. "You're right, I could. But what do
you
think?"

“Well, he was after one of two things that night - to kill me, or to kill the baby.”
 

I take a deep breath and shudder as the thought occurs through me that if he’d succeeded in killing the baby, he might have succeeded in coaxing me back to him. I might not have ever gotten away from him. I push the thought away.

"Couple that with the fact that he was thrown in jail, his father is probably pissed that he had to bail him out. Probably threatened to cut him off. Who knows what's driving Riley this time. It doesn't take much to set him off. Most men would have walked away from a pregnant girl, not beat the shit out of them."
 

He nods and writes something down.
 

"Believe me, if I'd known that was the reaction I was going to get, I would have never told him. I expected him to be angry, or demand an abortion, but never did I imagine that he would beat me to the extent that he did. I warned Rebecca of that last night."
 

The detective's eyes widen and his nostrils flare.
 

"What aren't you telling me, Detective?"

"I'm not at liberty—"

"Don't give me that bullshit. Riley got to Becca too, didn't he?"
 

He hesitates, then nods.
 

"So why aren't you questioning her?" I stop. Cold shivers rake through my body. "She told him..." Can't breathe. "He killed her?"
 

I put my hands on my knees. I hear a strange noise, and it takes me a moment to realize that it's me, gasping for air.

"Relax, Vivienne. Calm..." He has moved to stand next to me. His hand is gently stroking my back.
 

I'm hyperventilating again, too panicked. I fall to my knees. The jolt of pain causes me to gasp, and suddenly I can breathe again. I begin to calm.
 

"That's it," he says as I take long, deep breaths and pull myself up onto the bed. "Sorry,” he says. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you."

I nod, focusing on my breathing. "It's okay,” I say between deep breaths. “I'm okay."
 

Before he leaves, Detective Stevens assures me that there will be officers watching me go to and from work while they try to track Riley down. He says at this point they can’t do much except talk to him; when they found Becca, she had high levels of methamphetamines in her system. I never knew Rebecca very well, but Riley certainly wasn't the drug-doing type. Selling, yes; doing, no. Even if she did do drugs, would she do meth while pregnant? She didn't seem high last night when I saw her, but there were more than eight hours between her diner visit and her death.

When I head out for work, I look around and spy a cop car parked down the street, facing my direction. And when I get to work, there’s another one coming down the street just behind the bus. I don't linger on the street, just hop into the diner.

NINETEEN

"Hi, guys," I say to Laura and Nyssa as I head back to the lockers. Their answering hellos follow me through the door.
 

When I come out of the back room, Laura is quick to start asking questions. "There was a Detective Stevens looking for you here today. About gave the old grouch hound a heart attack. Care to tell us what that was all about?"
 

"Not particularly."
 

"Are you in trouble with the law?" she is quick to ask.
 

I laugh nervously. "Seriously, Laura. You think I'm in trouble with the cops?" I am in trouble, of course, just not with the cops. But I’m not sure my co-workers need to know that.

She purses her lips. "No, of course not. But usually when someone doesn't want to talk about why a cop was looking for them, it means they're the one in trouble."